Neither of them said much, for some reason, and sharing the same room made the atmosphere feel a little strange.

The relationship hung somewhere between something and nothing, unclear and unresolved. The awkwardness of the situation itself seemed to matter less than the fact that Zhou Zheng had been busy tending to her for so long — that was the part that felt hard to navigate.

Lin Shuang thought of herself as someone who was always easygoing, able to pick things up and put them down without fuss. They’d already broken things off cleanly, been apart for so long — and then this middle-of-the-night incident had happened, leaving behind a faint, sticky residue of feeling.

“Are you busy these days?” Lin Shuang spoke first, breaking the silence.

“It’s fine.”

“No girlfriend?” she asked flatly.

“No.” Zhou Zheng answered just as flatly.

He thought about it, then asked her in turn, “You broke up?”

“Mm…” If she hadn’t, she really might not have called him.

Okay — they were both single, free agents. Even if he’d looked, touched, held her, and she’d been held by him — that didn’t inconvenience anyone else. After all, they’d slept together so many times before; there was nothing left between them too private or unseen.

Lin Shuang ate a little something in a hurry. Zhou Zheng went to check the pill box on the table. “Is there hot water at home? Take your medicine.”

“Kitchen.” Lin Shuang gestured with her eyes.

Zhou Zheng walked into the empty kitchen — spotless, almost sterile. Just a water kettle, one small pot for one person, cold and clinical, without a trace of everyday warmth.

He brought out a cup of water and handed it to her along with the pills. She took the medicine. Zhou Zheng helped fasten the sling he’d bought for her, and seeing her frown again, slowed his movements and helped her onto the bed. “Rest a bit more.”

She made a soft sound, had him prop the pillow higher, and half-lay, half-reclined on the bed, propping her legs up to play with her phone. “I’m fine now, thanks. You should head back too.”

Her tone was light, unhurried.

He nodded, lingered a moment, thought it over. “Who’s coming to look after you?”

“Someone’s coming to look after me, on their way now.” She looked up, tapping the phone screen with a finger. “You paid for the hospital registration and exams — how much was it? I’ll transfer it to you.”

“No rush on that.” He held his own arm, pressed his lips together. “I got you a registration for tomorrow morning — that head physician and I know each other… should I take you to the hospital again tomorrow?”

Lin Shuang was silent for a moment, but didn’t refuse.

Zhou Zheng brought over the ointment he’d bought that morning and set it on the nightstand. “The bruises on your body… have someone rub them a little, they’ll heal faster.”

He set down the key to her apartment as well. “I’ll leave the key here.” His tone lightened. “I’ll head out now.”

“Okay.”

Zhou Zheng walked toward the door, then turned back. “Anything else you need? Want some water? Should I pour you a glass? Or bring back some fruit?”

“No need, thanks.”

The front door clicked shut. Lin Shuang finished scrolling her phone, called Nana — no bubble tea shop for a while these days — hung up, stared into space for a moment, then lay back down.

She fell asleep unusually early that day, waking and dozing off again and again, more sleep than she’d ever had in one stretch. Half her body ached, felt numb, and throbbed with pain. Eventually she got up to move around, dragged a chair to the window to sit in the sun, and then heard a knock at the door.

It was Zhou Zheng. He looked at her, his breathing slightly uneven, clearly from having walked in a hurry. “I called you several times, you didn’t pick up.”

Lin Shuang remembered. “My phone died.”

Zhou Zheng waited outside the bedroom door while she changed. The dress’s zipper slid down, pooling on the floor; she switched to another one and called him. “Come help me for a second.”

He gripped the edge of the beach-vacation dress, reaching it around under her arms. She was still wearing the same adhesive bra today, black, with excellent lift, carving a deep valley between her breasts. His vision swam for a second; he tensed his jaw and silently looked away.

Lin Shuang said nothing, glanced at him lightly, and grabbed his arm. “There’s a hidden hook on the back bow — just fasten it.”

Zhou Zheng moved around behind her, carefully studying how this elaborate, colorful dress was supposed to be worn. Lin Shuang swept her long hair forward, exposing the full expanse of her back — before his eyes, an unblemished field of snow, moonlight pure and bright, shoulder blades like wings poised to take flight yet slumbering in deep rest. He hardly dared to wake this delicate butterfly, his movements soft and light, his lowered breath falling across her bare back.

Lin Shuang flinched slightly.

Once the dress was on, she bent to remove the fabric underneath, switching to another piece and having Zhou Zheng lend a hand again. He held the soft, lightweight lace fabric, his face still tight, enduring it without complaint, expressionless, like a puppet on strings.

Then she stood before the vanity, and he held the comb, brushing her hair for her. She reached for a lipstick that matched her outfit and, facing the mirror, applied it carefully.

Both of them were reflected in the mirror, saying nothing, yet moving in perfect, unspoken sync.

On the way out, Zhou Zheng carried the bags and walked ahead. She heard him let out a soft breath as he stepped through the front door, and the corner of her mouth curled.

The head physician on duty was an old classmate of Ding Yan’s, and had met Zhou Zheng twice before. He looked over Lin Shuang’s emergency room imaging, felt around with his hand, quite calm about it. “No need to worry, nothing too serious. Rest for a while, be careful moving your arm — absolutely mustn’t injure it again, or recovery will be harder.”

“Keep the sling on for two or three weeks first. I’ll prescribe you some medicated patches. Come back for regular checkups — if you’re worried, we can get another X-ray. Once the arm can move again later on, do some passive-motion exercises.”

A hundred days to heal muscle and bone — that meant daily life would be restricted for a while. Lin Shuang couldn’t help asking, “Doctor, roughly when will this heal up?”

“If recovery goes well, about two months and you’ll be fine.” The doctor rattled off a long list of precautions, then finally told Zhou Zheng, “Watch her diet at home, get some nutrition into her, more milk, more fruits and vegetables, plenty of rest.”

The physician’s manner was quite gentle, and he made it all sound easy. Both of them relaxed. Zhou Zheng took Lin Shuang home, helped her onto the bed to lie down.

The atmosphere at home turned strange again. She looked at him, her gaze asking when he planned to leave. He looked at her, knowing that yesterday after he’d left, she’d been on her own — she’d drunk the milk he’d brought, eaten a few slices of bread, and nothing else in the apartment had changed.

He hesitated, unsure what to do. In their current relationship, he couldn’t get a grip on where the line sat between them.

“I’ll go out and buy some food.” He picked up the key from the table again.

An hour later, Zhou Zheng returned with heavy shopping bags — milk, eggs, and fruit filling the empty fridge, along with a few packed soup dishes.

“What are you going to do about this?” Zhou Zheng cleared the leftover dishes from the table into the trash, and asked her without looking up, “In your condition… you can’t really live alone. You still need someone looking after you…”

Lin Shuang truly wasn’t suited to living alone right now, but Fu Min had her own life and couldn’t spare the time to care for her; Miao Cai couldn’t come stay by her side either. As for finding someone else…

His unspoken meaning was obvious — he was standing right there in front of her, hers to command.

An ex-boyfriend of exceptional filial devotion, after all.

Lin Shuang was still putting up a stubborn front. “I hired a housekeeper, she comes by every day to help.”

She’d already worked it out too — for this stretch of time she’d be cooped up at home recovering, hiring a housekeeper for a few hours a day to cook one meal and tidy the place. Everything else she could manage on her own.

Senior year was about to start; Zhou Zheng had classes and couldn’t be running back and forth every day to look after her. Even if he could, that would just become a massive hassle down the line.

Zhou Zheng fell silent for a while.

He didn’t have the nerve to say it out loud, couldn’t shamelessly beg her, couldn’t beg her to keep him around — and even begging might not do any good. Her path and his ran in opposite directions; there was no possibility of a future between them. He’d had his fill once, thoroughly, and ought to let it go.

But he couldn’t just turn a blind eye and stand by doing nothing either.

Where the line for ordinary friends even sat — that was genuinely hard to guess.

The man’s gaze was quiet and soft, like a fluffy little ball of yarn, dangling in midair, swaying back and forth, ready to be squeezed by anyone’s hand.

Lin Shuang didn’t take the bait.

Zhou Zheng gritted his teeth and, hardening his resolve, stepped out her door.

He stood downstairs at Lin Shuang’s building for a good while, then went back to school for a meeting.

Miao Cai’s shop was right by the fountain plaza, quite close to Lin Shuang’s place, and she came by with some things to check on her.

Lin Shuang hadn’t told anyone about the fall yet. Opening the door to find Miao Cai there, she was somewhat surprised. “Why are you here?”

“Where did you hurt yourself? How bad is it?” Miao Cai set down her get-well gifts, scolding Lin Shuang. “How could you not say anything after getting hurt? Do you really think of me as an outsider?”

“It’s nothing, not serious.”

“Can you take care of yourself?” Miao Cai helped her back inside, glancing at the table full of things — medicine, food, fruit, snacks — care that seemed reasonably thorough.

“How did you find out?”

Miao Cai wiggled her eyebrows. “Ran into Teacher Zhou. He came by the fountain plaza to buy some things, we chatted a bit.”

Lin Shuang pressed her lips together.

Miao Cai found it amusing — the one person who knew about Lin Shuang’s accident was an ex-boyfriend Lin Shuang had once described as “no fun.”

This relationship was really something else.

She stayed and chatted with Lin Shuang for a while. Sure enough, the housekeeper showed up, coming to tidy the apartment and clean.

The housekeeper came by once every day around noon — buying groceries, cooking, doing housework, and even a few kitchen tools had been added to the place in the interim.

Zhou Zheng still came by too, roughly once every day or two, just enough to touch base — mainly restocking the fridge, never staying long, about ten minutes each visit.

Miao Cai made an effort to visit as often as she could, keeping Lin Shuang company to pass the time.

The days spent recovering were boring and irritating, her range mostly confined to bed at home. Lin Shuang lay there until her whole body itched with restlessness — the injured area naturally ached from top to bottom, the fracture site needing no mention, kept in one fixed position, the muscles of her entire arm sore, every shift in position triggering discomfort throughout her body.

The most troublesome part was that Lin Shuang needed to shower.

In the peak heat of July, she couldn’t endure it past two days.

She’d lain in bed for several days; her nightgown had gone as wrinkled as pickled greens, and she caught the sour, greasy scent of her own hair, wrinkling her nose at herself.

Zhou Zheng carried a stool into the bathroom for her.

Lin Shuang went in to shower wearing a full set of underwear, needing Zhou Zheng to lend a hand.

Her thinking was — a man and a woman alone, they’d already done everything there was to do, this one thing wasn’t going to make a difference.

Washing her hair was the most troublesome part — Lin Shuang had long hair, impossible to scrub clean with one hand. In the end, Zhou Zheng rolled up his pant legs and came in to help, applying shampoo and rinsing her hair for her.

She sat on the stool, contentedly enjoying the service of her amateur hair-washing assistant.

Water streamed down from the ends of her hair, the white foam thick and dense, clinging to her skin, smooth as cream. Zhou Zheng held her wet hair in one hand, the showerhead in the other, rinsing the foam clinging to her body downward.

His angle shifted slightly, and the spray of water hit her chest squarely — the bra couldn’t withstand the force of the water and slipped free, landing with a soft splat by Lin Shuang’s feet.

Zhou Zheng froze for a moment.

In the hazy, drifting steam, water droplets soaked her in a lush, dazzling glow — red and white, trembling, waiting to be gathered.

“Well, it’s off now, might as well wash everything together — use that scrub bottle first, and the essential oil too.”

Her tone was perfectly composed.

The man behind her said nothing, his breathing wet, hot, and unsteady, still holding a handful of her wet hair.

Lin Shuang glanced back, her gaze drifting downward, and — sure enough.

Filthy man, taking advantage of the situation.

She let it go.

Some things, from the moment she’d made that phone call, there’d been no avoiding.

A debt of gratitude — repaid in kind.

She felt perfectly at peace with it.